Archive of Our Own

"What she said, "how come

someone hasn't noticed that I'm dead,

and decided to bury me?"

The radio silence wasn't torture enough, weren't it? He had to wait until all the way until the fucking film was done and everyone was walking away, muttering under their breath about how tragic it all was. Such a pity, Liam'd heard about a dozen times as posh shoes stomped their way over the carpet.

As if they fucking knew anything. They wouldn't understand Rock-'n'-roll if it smashed their heads in with a Rickenbacker. So how could they understand them? Oasis was pure Rock-'n'-roll, it was music but also getting into a bit of trouble, it was angry and dirty sometimes. The two of them were no different, y'know. And Liam had wanted to tell it like it is, with all the ugly things that would've made those fanny little journalists vomit all over their posh shoes.

Instead they had an incomplete tale, just the peak of the mountain, and it was enough for everyone in the room to leave the cinema with the feeling of having watched a legend, them shiny shoes still intact.

Fucking nonsense, Liam thinks as he lights a fag. The smoke turns a light blue with the light coming from the projector. He reaches a pair of fingers and caresses the waves of smoke. At least is quiet now, the interviews had done his head in. It was just him with a load of journalists, all of them asking about Oasis but not as if Liam was the Frontman— nah, he was just Liam Gallagher, and Oasis was an old thing, something long gone that geezers asked about the same way someone would ask about your dead grandma.

He almost wished they'd slagged off the band instead. Then it'd give Liam someone to fight, someone to fuckin' spit at and tell off. Like this, with this nothingness, there was no one to fight, no one to confront. It wouldn't be any different than punching the smoke in front of him. Can't fight an empty space, you see.

So he starts to make his way out of the room, throwing the half finished fag inside a bin that's outside the door. There's summat about cinemas, the air in them is a bit tight, plastic-smelling like you're sitting inside a big shoe box. Must be the lack of windows. But then again, the hallway don't have any windows either and the air is a bit lighter. He takes a long breath in, digging his feet in the soft carpet under his trainers. It feels soft, and he always wanted this type of carpet for his gaff— although he'd probably need to buy a popcorn machine to really get the full experience.

There's no one around, he notices, not a single geezer stayed behind to ask him anything. Probably felt like they heard enough, with the film and Liam's words before. Thank fucking Christ, 'cos he doesn't think he has it in him to talk about his brother without throwing a fit or start wailing.

He takes a tentative step to the left, patting his pockets for another ciggie. His palms drag over the soft fabric of his coat but there's nothing inside except for his own torso. He'd ask Debs, but she'd gone away 'cos he wanted her to, asked her for space and that when the film ended. Just needed a minute with his thoughts. Like he hadn't had two years alone with himself already. Should've told her to leave the box of cigarettes with him.

Well, now he has a few minutes with his thoughts. Turns out they're fucking miserable and it would've been nice to have Debbie to talk over them until he couldn't hear his own head anymore. Instead the voice bounces off the walls of his skull, the nagging, whining words echoing louder and louder. 'Cos it's over, isn't it. And he knows it's been over, he's known it for a while but this feels like an homage, and homages are for old things, done things— and what does that make Liam, then?

"That coat you're wearing 's older than half the kids that are gonna watch the film, mate."

The familiar lazy drawl makes him gasp, too much air going into his lungs too quick. He tries to breathe out and only a cough comes out, followed by another until his bent over in a fit of coughs.

When he looks up, he finds him standing there like a fucking mirage, arms folded and lying his side against the wall. He's looking down on Liam, 'course. Can't look at him any other way.

"Fuck are you doin' here?" Liam wheezes, standing up straight. His brother doesn't move a single centimetre, only blinking slowly like he's too lazy even for that.

"Wanted to watch the film, see people's reactions." Noel shrugs. "Didn't fancy talking to a load of cunts from the Guardian and the fuckin' Mirror, did I? So I sneaked in."

He's gonna have a word with their security, 'cos who let this cunt in without telling Liam? Then again he'd probably bribed whoever they put in charge of not letting people in. Or just figured that if the fella was on the movie poster then he should be allowed in. But nah, Noel had been clear, or well, his personal assistant was. He weren't coming to the premiere, sent his regards through a fucking fax like it was 1985 and that was that. Best wishes, you're on your own.

Yet here he is, white button up rolled up until his elbows, skinny trousers so tight they seemed like they were sticking to the skin. Could be a cunt from the Guardian himself, all dressed up like a fucking student.

"They probably didn't recognise 'cos you look like a fuckin' banker," Liam says, shifting his weight from foot to another. Why is his brother so fucking still? Makes him nervous, 'cos his legs feel like they're filled with ants and he needs to run a kilometre and back to take the edge off. His knee is bouncing in place, and his brother is taking too long to answer as well. Everything is slow and still, his kid's breathing, his eyes, even his words. Liam wants to start climbing the walls.

"Right, I should've cut me hair in a mop top and come with Union Jack guitar, see if people remember me," Noel snickers, giving him a once over. "You look like a fuckin' wax figure mate, just a bit thicker around the waistline."

Liam frowns. The coat ain't in great shape to be fair, had to have the top button sown back up— and neither was his hair, it was thinning, falling flatter on his head. And he knows his face's got a few lines that weren't there in 1996, to make a pair with the little rolls on his abdomen. If he's made out of wax then he's a melting candle, not a figure.

But maybe Noel is trying to make peace, innit? Telling him he looks good and that, perhaps he's trying to be nice. The dig is just banter, it's alright. And it is true that Liam's put on a little weight anyway.

"Reckon I still look the part?" He asks, a little smile curling up the corner of his lips, not daring to move or even to blink 'cos the moment might run from him. He's still bending down just he slightest bit, having to look up at Noel. Even from here, a few steps away from him, he can hear his brother's breath hitch.

Noel's tongue shows up through the skin of his cheek, stretching it as he narrows his eyes. He's thinking, Liam realises, before his brother clicks his tongue. "Right, let's talk somewhere else, not here where a fuckin' journalist could walk by," Noel explains, turning on his foot before he starts walking away.

Liam's known him long enough to understand he's meant to follow him, so he does. He drags his feet in the same way Noel walks, stepping on the little imprints his brother's shoes leave on the carpet. It feels less soft, but warmer, somehow. Even through the soles of the shoes.

They step through a door, and the white light of the toilet makes Liam wince, squinting as he looked around. There are no feet peeking out from under the stall doors so they know they're alone, and Noel probably wants to keep that way since a click echoes through the empty toilet as he locks the door.

Right, this is it. Liam tries to keep his breathing level. He's thought about this so many times, in silent nights in his gaff, just sitting by the end of the bed trying to figure out how to apologise. And how to demand an apology, too. 'Cos it were the two of them, you see. And Liam had done some stuff he wasn't proud of, embarrassed himself and the band on stage a few times and that, but Noel weren't innocent either, fucking smashing his head with a cricket bat and tattling to his little mates in the Sun.

But he'd start it, if that's what it needed to happen. He'd take a deep breath and say he's sorry, right, say he didn't mean it, 'cos he didn't, he never had any bad intentions, and surely his brother would follow. Surely if Liam opened his arms, then his kid would have to meet him in a hug. Just needed to take that first step, be the bigger, braver person for the two of them. That's alright, Noel had been brave a few times for him already.

The second he opens his mouth to speak, two hands grab him by the waist.

"Fuckin' unbelievable," his brother mutters under his breath before his hands slide below his coat, fumbling to get beneath Liam's shirt. It's only when he feels the two hands on his bare skin that Liam reacts, though.

"Oi— hold on, wha'—," he stammers, his breath hitching when a hand comes up to squeeze at his chest, like they're a bird's tits. "Wanted to have a chat, hold on a fuckin' minute."

Noel is all over him, then, cornering him into the toilet wall. The cold tiles make him hiss, and he mentally complains that even through the posh coat that cost him a fortune he can still feel the cold.

"Nowt to talk about," Noel says before he dives his head into the crook of Liam's neck. "Christ, you're a fuckin' slag, wearing the same clothes from the day I popped your cherry? You think that'd fuckin' draw me in?" He asks against the skin of the neck, the warms puffs of his breath making the skin rise in goosebumps.

Didn't pop his cherry, Liam lost his virginity with a bird when he was sixteen, he wants to protest but the words die in his throat when a set of teeth dig into his collarbone. Fucking hell. A cold shiver climbs up his spine, as he remembers the day. It wasn't just— it wasn't fucking crass. That day in Scotland was the day to Noel was honest with him, the day he confessed he loved him more than he could handle, more than any brother should love a brother.

It was fuckin' mega, knowing it. Knowing for certain that his brother was mad for him, that all the fits and the dirty looks weren't 'cos he hated Liam, but because he was jealous of anyone who stood to close to him. Made him feel good, left him certain that all the songs were for him. And the two of them were the same, all that Noel wanted Liam wanted it as well.

"It did fuckin' draw you in, you're here, yeah?" Liam grits out. He could probably push his brother away, but if he did, the bastard would probably walk out the door, again. Can't have it any way except the Chief's way, innit? So he keeps his hands to his sides, hanging limp and growing cold.

He felt more than he heard the way Noel hummed against his throat. "Yeah. Should know better by now, really."

There's a second in which he wonders to which of them his brother means, but then the pair of hands snake their way to Liam's belt, fiddling with the leather, dragging the nails over the rough texture. It's gonna leave a mark that, he can hear it scraping over the belt.

Liam swallows thickly and is sure his brother can hear it. "Hold on a minute, need to have a word, first, yeah? Like— just fuckin' wait, you cunt," he snaps, his own hands flying to hold on to his brother's wrists. He's panting when he speaks again. "This, right, the kids— they want the band back, y'know? It'd be nice t-to, dunno, do summat."

The snicker that follows hurt his ears, 'cos he's heard it too many times after Noel thought Liam had said summat daft. And sometimes he did say daft things, alright, but sometimes he was right. Like right now, he is. He's never been more right, he reckons, that in this instant.

"A comeback, now?" Noel tuts, his hand coming up to Liam's hair, brushing his fingers through the locks, and just the touch is enough to make him close his eyes, leaning against the touch. "You don't get it, do you, mate? It's done, and this fuckin' film, right, it's a fuckin' tribute, an homage, yeah? There ain't no tributes for current bands, they're for the past. Oasis is a museum exhibit now, it's done—"

"Shuddup," he hisses, cutting him off as he shakes off the hand that curls around a lock of his hair. Nonsense it is, just trying to wind Liam up. He's not falling for it.

"I'm not tryin' to be a cunt, kidda, it's just how it is. You need to let it go, you look like a fuckin' widow, all in black with your little teary eyes. Just give over, you're embarassing yourself."

Well maybe he is a fuckin' widow, mourning the thing he'd dedicated his life to, the only reason he's standing here now and not overdosing on a dirty floor in Burnage.

"You took it from me, 'r'kid," he chokes out, even if he meant it to be an accusation. It was supposed to be angry scream, maybe with a proper push or a slap to go along with it, but his arms don't move and his mouth curls down in a pout against his will. He presses his lips together, trying to force them into a straight line, but something keeps dragging the corners down, the same thing that stings in his eyes and itches in his throat.

"Fuckin' hell, cut it out— where's the hard man of Rock-n-roll then? The geezer that said he'd kick me head in, hmm?" Noel's hands were back on the belt, unbuckling it with steady hands, a guitarist's hands, filled with calluses and so certain, so firm. Liam's hands couldn't stop shaking. "I took fuck all from you, it was you that couldn't lay off the booze and the charlie enough not to sound like a fuckin' frog on stage. Is that how much you love the band, then? Enough to be cryin' here, now, but not enough to grow up and be a fuckin' adult?"

No one told Liam how to be an adult. He doesn't remember when he turned into one either. In his head, it was school, then a summer of gigs, football and messing about with the lads, then days and days of rehearsing in a moldy little room 'till suddenly they were on the telly, the studio and somehow he was sitting in front of forty thousand people when his brother kissed him. Then it was a whirlwind that you couldn't jump out— was he an adult then? Was he supposed to grow up somewhere in between the lines of meth on stage and the paps running to take pictures of his kid?

But he could've been one, maybe. If he knew it'd lead to all this, maybe he would've stopped. He can stop now, if it'll bring it back.

His belt is gone, clattering against the tiled floor. He manages to raise his arms, just a bit, to make it easier when Noel pulls down his trousers. The cold against his bare skin makes his thighs fill with goosebumps, and he hisses at the feeling of his brother's thumbs sliding over them. "See, it's alright when you're not behaving like a fuckin' spoiled brat," Noel hums, making quick work of the pants as well.

For some reason he was expecting some sort of reaction when he saw Liam's prick, at least a raised brow at the fact he was soft. He used to want Liam to be proper hard when they did back in the day, always insisted to have him dripping. If he wasn't, he'd bring Liam to the edge with a hot, wet mouth, or a calloused hand that dragged too hard against the sensitive skin there. Most days Liam wanted the hand.

"You shaved," he comments, finally, as he reaches out to cups Liam's bollocks with an almost uninterested hand. "That for me, hmm?"

It's a tempting idea to shake his head and say he's done it for Debs, but the warm palm wrapping around his cock sucks all the air from his lungs, like it's squeezing his windpipe instead. He only manages to let out a broken noise, somewhere between a whine and a groan, like a kicked dog.

Noel lets out a low, breathy laugh thag predictably makes Liam shiver. "Yeah. Well, you shouldn't have. Not like I'm gonna be seeing the front of you much, am I?"

With that Liam is being spun around, almost bumping his nose into the cold wall. It should disgust him, really, the dirty toilet tiles against his cheek, but he can't be arsed with indignation at the minute. Especially when he feels a rather cold glob of spit on his lower back. Can't help but flinch at the sensation, wrinkling his nose as he feels it dripping down between his arse cheeks.

"C'mon, bend down a little, that's it," Noel coos, his hand pushing between Liam's shoulder blades. He's practically squished against the wall, or at least his face and shoulders are, while his arse is sticking out. A foot comes between Liam's, kicking them softly, so Liam spreads his legs further apart 'cos he's clever enough to understand that.

Really, this is what Liam wanted. Noel's eyes on him, his hands, his words, even if they stung. He just needed to know his brother still wanted him, at least in this way. Needed to know Noel hadn't forgotten about him.

Evidently he hasn't, 'cos Noel's breaths come out ragged the same way they used to, back then. He lines up against the entrance the same way. And he must remember what Liam had told him that one time, when they had come out of a press conference, just the two of them; and it was just them two in a car, with no lube or nowt, so Liam had told him to just fuckin' put it in, only with their spit and a sweat to glide the way. His brother had refused at first, but eventually he'd given in, draping himself over Liam's back and giving it to him good and proper, both in matching clothes, but him in white and Noel in black. Like bride and groom, innit.

Now they got it backwards, with Liam in black and Noel in white. But then again, Liam's in mourning isn't he? Makes sense. He can't remember what colour his brother was wearing, the day it all started. He remembers a leather jacket but not what was beneath it, he can recall his brother's chest, hairy and paler than his own; and even though he had seen it hundreds of times, that time it felt different. It was different. 

It's the same chest that Liam feels on his back now, as Noel starts to push inside. To his credit, he's doing it slowly, still Liam grits his teeth 'cos it's been fuckin' ages since he's taken anything. Didn't have any interest in it, letting another bloke do this to him. It weren't about that, anyway, it wasn't the prick that made him feel good. Well, it was, but it had to be Noel's, 'cos he loved Liam. He loved Liam, maybe too much. 

That's why he had been so panicked, that day. Liam had never seen his brother like that, all teary eyed and angry, but also fuckin' scared. Like he wanted to jump out the window, but not afraid that Liam might kick his head in or nowt like that. Noel was scared he'd get rejected, you see, he was afraid that Liam would hate him or be disgusted. 

He could never be disgusted by Noel. Not even now, when his hot breaths blow on Liam's ears, groaning as he carves himself his old place inside his little brother. The puffy rim burns as it's stretched around Noel's cock, feeling feverish as the muscle seems to tense to its limit. 

"So fuckin' tight," Noel hisses, his hands clutching Liam's waist. He's digging his fingers into the skin. Liam can feel something cold along the hot hands, and belatedly he realises it's a pair of rings. A thick one, that even without seeing it he knows it has a red stone; and another one, thinner, with no stone or anything. The wedding band burns against Liam's skin, and he has to resist the urge of turning around and biting the finger off. 

But Noel ain't thinking about his missus now, not when he bottoms out with a deep moan. He had come all this way here, right, probably sneaked out of his own gaff as well, after the missus and the little 'uns were asleep. All planned out and secretive to come and get some of Liam, 'cos the bastard is still gagging for it. 'Course he is. 

"Came 'ere for this, ey?" Liam turns his head to ask, voice wavering when the prick inside him starts to withdraw, slowly. 

His brother only slams inside again, punching out a loud whimper out of Liam. Christ. It burns, feeling it deep in his abdomen, like a hot metal rod rummaging in in his insides. He tries to clutch at the wall but his hands slip, only pawing at it dumbly. 

The grip on Liam's waist tightens and once he's a better grip, Noel starts snapping his hips, going a tad too fast. It makes Liam let out little breathy moans with every thrusts, some of them going too deep, or too dry, the skin chafing and making him hiss. But that's alright, he knew it could happen. In reality, he should've prepped before coming here, y'know, push in a few fingers in the shower before changing into his clothes. 

"Noel, No—el, ah, Noely—"

A sweaty palm comes to cover Liam's mouth then, muffling his noises. "You still moan like a fuckin' whore, fuckin' hell," Noel huffs, panting with the effort of ramming his cock inside Liam over and over and over again. His hips ache as well, probably from smashing against the front of Noel's things and the cold, hard walk in front of him. Still, the sounds keep spilling out of him, every nerve of his skin burning with the touch he'd missed so much.

Because he had missed it. Maybe at the start of it all, that day in Scotland and the days after, right, maybe Liam weren't too keen on snogging his brother and messing about and that. But that was a silly mistake, and eventually he realised it was, 'cos it just makes sense. It's the only thing that makes sense. They share everything, their blood, their eyes, their music, it makes sense they share their love and their bodies as well. 'Cos neither of them are good with words, so all they had was their kisses, their hugs, those little scratches Noel used to give him, right behind Liam's ear, and the little pinches on his older brother's cheek or his arse if he was feeling cheeky. And this, this right now, the arms clutching his waist and Noel driving his cock inside of Liam, it's just as close at they can get. It's them inside of each other, their bodies mixing until they're one. Their love made into flesh.

He'd like it better if Noel started leaving kisses on his nape like he used to do back in the day, but  Liam prefers this to cold words, or worse, nothing at all. He'll take any ache in his body over indifference, 'cos that would mean his brother doesn't care about him anymore. If he hated him it'd still more preferable, 'cos it would mean he would wake up angry with Liam in his mind. As long as he's is on Noel's mind, that's alright, it doesn't matter why. 

So when Noel's hand comes up to hold Liam's throat, he doesn't flinch. He lets the hand wrap around his neck, and thankfully for a second the thrusts slow down, reduced to a faint rocking of the hips. There's a pull, and he realises Noel is pulling him away from the wall.

It's a relief on his skin, the side Liam's face red from being smashed against the cold tiled wall. He lets outs a small sigh as he's dragged towards the mirror, the hand on his neck still firm in a way that digs into the muscle. Noel can probably feel the pulse beating wildly under his palm, can feel the way Liam's veins jumping excitedly at the mere presence of his brother. 

Liam is being pushed against the sink now, the sharp edge of the counter digging into his navel. The hand slides up to his jaw, making him look at the mirror above the sink.

"See that, kidda?" His brother's rough voice against his ear, but now he can see the lips moving behind him, the sharp eyes looking at Liam through the mirror. The pupils are a pair of eclipses, so dark and blown as they seem to swallow the sight of him. "Fuckin' pathetic you look, desperate to have a cock in you."

Liam wasn't really looking at himself, but now that his brother mentions it, well. He's looked better, let's put it that way. At least his torso — which he knows isn't as lean as it once was, he's not fuckin' blind — is covered by the black coat. Yet his face is littered with wrinkles that weren't there before, with dark bags under the eyes that seem to make him older than he is, while his hair is dry and greasy at the same time, almost pasty and without shine as it falls over his eyes. Finally, on his mug, rests a sad little pout that he can't take off even as he moves his mouth around: it's almost like it's another bloke and not himself, 'cos even when Liam tries to snarl, the lips on the reflection only quiver, still parted in a continuous pant. 

A hand comes to paw at his chest then, squeezing his left pec like it's a tit. Liam squirms a bit, feeling his brother push closer to him, and in doing so, sliding inside once again. It takes a bit of effort, but he forces himself to keep his eyes on Noel's reflection as he drives his cock inside. He watches the way the Adam's apple bobs in his throat, the way his eyelashes flutter as his lips part just the slightest bit. Fuckin' gorgeous, his brother. Had gotten better looking with the years, more confident. Something in him is lighter now, taking more space than before. 

For the first time since— he doesn't know when, probably before the band, before his brother went away with the Carpets. Since before everything, before they knew anything more than each other, Liam feels smaller than his brother. Even in the reflection, he sees Noel tower over him, his chest puffed out and shoulders wide as he rocks inside of him. And Liam is just there, isn't he, basically curled up on the countertop, his arms barely holding him up. He'd gotten used to be bigger than his brother, to look down at him (physically that is, he never thought less of him, never would) but now he finds himself looking up at the mirror, eyes wide as his neck begins to hurt. 

One has to wonder if Liam has been shrinking, or if his absence has made Noel bigger. 

"So fuckin' soft, like a bird," Noel snarls, his hand squeezing just on the edge of too hard. 

Liam lets out something like the beginning of a whine but quickly swallows it, opening his eyes wide and focusing them on his brother. He stares at him, following his every move. By the way the mouth sucks in a breath in the reflection, he can tell Noel's about to continue. 

"The state of you, all shaved, with these tits, this fuckin' haircut as well, are you a bird, then? Have you turned into me sister?" He snickers, fondling at Liam's chest. "Though maybe you always been one, that'd explain a lot. My daft little sister."

Sometimes Liam would've liked to have been a girl. He doesn't know if they would've made it as a band, 'cos there's not many famous front women and that, but he's sure his brother would've treated him better. Maybe Noel would've still had those feelings of his, the too big for siblings kind of love, but still, he would've been just a bit more tender with him if he was his sister. Wouldn't pull on her hair, wouldn't pinch her tits like he's doing now.

"Want me to be your sister?" Liam croaks out, and rushes to clear his throat. His voice would have to be a lot softer to be a bird. "You fancy getting me up the duff?"

Again, he wouldn't mind. He's done many things, a bit of pretending wouldn't be the worse by a long fucking shot. 

"Jesus Christ." His brother shakes his head as he swears under his breath. The hand abandons Liam's chest and comes up to the base of his neck, the red stone of the class ring glimmering painfully into Liam's eyes like one last mockery. "You see, yeah? You, this— this is why it all went to shit."

His brother's thrusts slow down as he leans forward, crushing Liam against the sink and going deeper with every movement. Practically grinding inside of him, he says against Liam's earlobe: "If you just fuckin' reacted like a normal fuckin' bloke, yeah, none of this fuckin' shit would've happened." His thumb digs painfully into Liam's jaw as he rambles, the voice swinging wildly between being nothing but a low rumble and deliriously high pitched "But no, oh no, you had to spread your fuckin' legs like, like, like a fuckin' pathetic thing— a slag, not even that, 'cos whores get fuckin' paid at least. Should've kicked me head in, not given in."

He should have? Liam blinks, his eyes flicking towards himself for a second before locking in on Noel again. Maybe that was right, maybe he was supposed to give his brother a clip behind the ear instead of bending over. Perhaps that were his job, as a brother, to remind Noel that there was a line they shouldn't cross and that. But surely that wasn't it, was it?

Taking a deep breath, he tries to stand upright, even if the muscles in his forearms and thighs scream. "That why you left?" Liam asks, and he intended it to sound like a demand, an interrogation, but it comes out weak, rough, like a plead. And that ain't right, 'cos he's not pleading. Well, not right now, at least. 

There's no answer, only some pained sound that resembles a growl as the grip on Liam's waist and neck tightens. 

Liam frowns, his throat closing up suddenly. "Thought— I thought it was the rows, yeah? 'Cos you didn't like us anymore, and I don't, what was it? Fuckin' violent behaviour, was it?"

Noel's palm his hot against the skin of his neck, covered in feverish sweat. "All brothers row, yeah? But it's just us tha..."

As he trails off, both their bodies stop for a second, even the tremble of his arms ceasing for a moment, and his eyes find Noel's. And finally those baby blues on him, the ones that looked at Liam during every gig like he was summat magical. The same eyes that turned into thin little lines over a giant grin with every one of Liam's jokes. The eyes that roamed over the lyrics, all of them a code for Liam to figure out. And they all said the same, what Noel couldn't say. 

And that can't be it. 'Cos it was just love, innit?Surely that's the thing that kept them together, even through everything else. It was the heavy words, the punches, the secrets and the plotting that destroyed them, not this. This was the thing that saved them. The thing that brought Noel here, the thing that Liam does everything for. 

"No." Liam shakes his head. "Nah mate, am not havin' that."

Noel's eyes leave him then, as he buries his face on Liam's nape. And it's fuckin' ridiculous. Of this he's ashamed? Of all things. He doesn't feel shame about leaving Liam alone, of abandoning him and killing their fucking band, the work of their lives; but he feels embarrassed of this. Of their love. 

"Sorry, kidda," Noel mutters, voice muffled against the fabric. 

He's not even apologising for the band, or the accusations, or the insults. He ain't even apologising for the bruises on Liam's body. The bastard's apologising for their love, for wanting him. Noel's got it all wrong, saying sorry for the one thing Liam never was angry for. 

"Fuck off, you don't say sorry for that, you fuckin'—" Liam gargles when a hand wraps around his prick, hot and slick with sweat as it makes quick work of him. 

A simmering heat starts low in his belly, quickly spreading to his thighs until it reaches his cock, twitching in Noel's hold. Liam squirms, wanting to argue but choking on air as the strokes get faster, the familiar feeling of a calloused hand tossing him off too comforting and painful at the same time. 

"Fuck, Noely p-please." He doesn't know if the actually makes a sound or if his mouth just forms around the words uselessly, but he does feel Noel tense behind him, maybe at the name. No one calls him that but Liam, you see. 

Even so, his brother is not even looking at him, just mumbling nonsense into the hood of Liam's coat, the fuckin' coat that's older than the kids who send him tweets asking for a reunion. Liam's breath gets stuck in his trachea then, the air coming out in little stacatto bursts until his whole body tenses.

"'m sorry, 'm sorry, I did— so sorry, kidda," Noel keeps slurring against the back of his neck, and that's the last thing Liam hears before his ears pop, some buzzing invading his senses as his frame shakes. He can feel his dick twitching, his balls tightening up right before he's spilling on Noel's hand with a sob. Christ. 

At some point he must've closed his eyes, only the dim light of the toilet coming through his eyelids. It's a wonder he hasn't fallen over, considering he's not holding himself up. It's not on purpose either, his arms have just given up, turned into liquid in the aftershocks. He's melting into the body behind him. Maybe that way he can keep his brother from fucking off again.

He wants to ask his brother what's he's sorry for, or rather why. He'd like an apology for not being there today for the premiere, for not giving him a reunion after Liam was skint from two divorces. For everything else, just not this. The thing that Liam cherished 'cos it meant his brother loved him. 

Instead a pitiful short sound comes from his mouth, like a dog that's been kicked. And Noel's hands pull away from him like Liam's skin burns in response, moving to pull out of him. 

No.

Liam's hands fly to grab at Noel's lower back, clutching at the fabric, the firm torso. Anything he could get his hands on, dragging him back to himself. He's sure he's making noises, some incomprehensible gibberish or just pained humming, but the gesture is easy to understand. Opening his legs further, feeling himself slipping from where's he's leaning against the countertop, is hands push Noel against him. 

Noel's prick is still inside him, his hands hovering at the sides of Liam's waist, uncertain. Why the fuck would he be uncertain now? He wants to shake his brother, wants to make him angry so he would be quick and passionate like he was the first time, all fucking desperate for Liam, starving for him. That's what he deserves, isn't he? 

"C'mon, c'mon," he manages, his voice barely a thread of sound in the quiet and dingy little toilet. "Give it to us proper, yeah?  Go on, Noely, need to get your sister up the duff."

Now, he's never heard anyone die, but he's sure they would make a sound like the one that escapes Noel, long, deep and painful. Still, he pushes inside Liam again with a low groan, hands finally grabbing onto the body in front of him. 

It fucking burns. It's too big, too much, too soon. The impulse in Liam is to squirm out of the hold, or to push his brother away, but he's not doing that now. He grits his teeth, feeling all the hairs on his body stand up as a sharp ache shoots through his insides. It's like ants, running aimlessly all over his limbs, his torso, his prick, even. Liam shakes his head, jaw hurting from biting down on nothing. 

"Hurts, don't it?" Noel asks, almost like a dare. Like he wants Liam to admit it. But if he does, that means his brother is gonna pull out and start fucking sulking again, right before he does a runner as well. Not this time. 

"Like it." Liam shivers. "Uh, want to feel it tomorrow, fuck— d'you know what I mean?"

"Christ." It's all his brother says before he gets into a rhythm. 

He fucks Liam hard and fast through the pained ah-ah-ah's and into the longer moans of pleasure that soon take their place. His entire body hangs limp and pliable, jerking back and forth with each thrust of  Noel's cock. It's a fucking wonder no one hears them, with all the racket they're making at Liam's wails.

A headache starts to creep up on him, probably from gritting his teeth so hard, but he stays still, letting his mouth open so his teeth stop aching. What replaces the ache is a thread of spit falling from his throat into the sink in a straight, clean line. He watches it in the mirror, staring at his own shiny lips, red and swollen; and when he looks up towards Noel's reflection, he finds him staring at Liam's mouth as well. 

"You don't fuckin' like this," Noel hisses, and it doesn't sound like a question. Still, Liam answers.

"I do, f—fuckin' love it." His voice wavers with the force of every pump of Noel's hips but still he nods, as if to reinforce his words. 

In the mirror, Noel shakes his head, his mouth twisting down after one of his hands lets go of his waist, punctuating his words with a hard shove of his prick. "No, you fuckin' don't, you don't."

Suddenly the burn turns more intense, ripping a loud scream from Liam as he feels a finger trying to slide in along with Noel's cock. And it's too much. The muscles of his entrance burn, the skin taut and irritated, and his hands twitch with the need to push away, to scratch and bite his way out. 

Liam's mumbling something, his own voice sounding far away, but he still feels the vibration of his vocal chords and his tongue touching the roof of his dry mouth. 

"No, no, no, no."

The finger pops inside, surely tearing something inside of Liam, and the scream that pulls out of him hurts his throat as well. It feels too hot, the flesh beating like there's a second heart down there, clenching around the cock and Noel's thick finger. His hand scramble madly, not sure of what he's doing. Noel doesn't hold him down though, doesn't trap his hands. Liam could run, could slap him and push him away.

He sobs, letting his head hang forward.

"I know, I know," Noel coos, rocking the finger slowly in and out, a too strong contrast with how fast his cock is drilling into Liam's hole. "Just a bit, it'll hurt for a bit, just a bit more."

The world blurs a little as Liam's eyes tear up, one of the tears sliding down his cheek, mixing with the drops of sweat. Maybe his brother was right, he doesn't fuckin' like this. He doesn't like pain, no one likes it, yeah? And maybe other blokes enjoy being done up the arse and that but he's not up for it, definitely didn't see the fun part of it the first time they done this. But Noel loved it, still he's mad for it, that's why his movements get all sloppy and he moans as he starts to lose himself in Liam's tight heat. That's enough for Liam, you see. Even if Noel doesn't see it. 

"I love you," Liam whispers, as a way of explanation, the weak sound almost getting lost between the slap of skin against skin and both their groans and whimpers. 

"Fuck, 'm gonna fill you up." It's all he gets in reply, while he's being bent over the sink and his brother is barely pulling out with each thrust, just rutting mindlessly as his cock bumps into his own finger. "Gonna get you up the duff, yeah? Have you barefoot in me kitchen with a big belly."

Liam would like that, having a little 'un for themselves. At least he's sure Noel would stay then. A hand comes up to squeeze his tit again, and he can imagine it filled with milk. He would be a bird for Noel if he wanted that, he wouldn't mind being his missus. Liam was spending most of his time bored in his gaff anyway. 

The finger pushes further inside, the rim of his entrance aching in a way that makes Liam cry out, just at the same time the cock is buried as deep as it can go. He's almost certain that if he were to look, the skin of his abdomen would stretch where Noel's prick was pushing against.

His brother lets out an animalistic groan, plastering his body over Liam's as he pumps his hips. "So fuckin' good, so easy for me, all fuckin' mine, all— fuck, fuck, 'm sorry, 'm sorry," he slurs, the words sticking into each other in a liquid whisper that gets lost in the wet sounds of his cock driving into Liam's entrance and staying there.

Then, Liam feels it. He swears he can, the lava hot liquid filling him up. Staining his insides, marking him and hopefully breeding summat inside of him. Something that will grow and belong to the both of them, something born out of their love. The band maybe was done for but they could have this, at least. 

Two or three seconds pass before they're both crumbling to the floor. It's probably dirty and all, but it's a posh gaff so probably not. Anyway, he can't smell anything that isn't them, the scent of their sweat, of Noel's minty aftershave and something else,  a bit of a metallic smell that hangs in the air. 

He hisses when he feels something drag against the walls of his entrance, the puffy rim clenching softly around nothing. It feels hollow more than painful. His eyes are fluttering when he feels Noel laying him down on the floor, on his side. Liam lets him, leaving his muscles lax as he relishes the feeling of his big brother's warm hands on him. 

"I hurt you," Noel says, his voice low and softer than he has heard it in years. Maybe a decade.

Liam only nods. Because he has. Noel's left him here all alone until Liam forgot the sound of his brother's voice when he was being kind to him. But now they're both here, and he has a piece of Noel inside of him, something to take with him. And they can do it again, keep each other on each other again like they used to do.

Noel nods back, his lips pressing together. "Alright."

The thing is that he would forgive it all, all of it, if he heard his brother say he loves him. Well. He's already forgiven him, really, but he'd like to hear it. 

Noel's hand is on his cheek then, cradling it with a tender touch, the thumb rubbing circles on Liam's cheekbone. 

He closes his eyes, a small shiver climbing across his body at the sensation. Then, he feels the soft fabric of a tissue on his forehead, wiping his sweat off, and then his neck. It goes away, before he can feel it on his thighs, on the inside, where some cum has been dripping from his entrance. Liam flinches when he feels the tissue dabbing against the rim, and then around the cheeks, right where the spit was drying off.

It's rather calming, and Liam finds himself sighing at the feeling, right before he feels warm lips on his own. Opening his eyes, he finds an identical pair staring at him, wet, red and pained. For a second he thinks they're his own eyes, somehow still staring at his reflection, but they're not. He blinks slowly, but his brother's eyes remain open and glassy as he pulls away and stands up on wobbly legs. 

Even so, Noel towers over him, still fully clothed as he pats down his jeans. Liam looks up at him whilst he wipes a glob of spit hanging from the corner of his mouth. His brother closes his eyes for a moment, taking a quick look to the mirror with a scowl. With fast hands he fixes his hair and rolls down his sleeves before he turns around and opens the door to the toilet. 

He's gone before Liam can say anything, the door swinging for a few seconds with an awful creek as it slows down. 

The ache between his legs makes itself present again, but it's no match for the one that takes a hold of Liam's chest. He lets out a shivering breath, holding back a sob, certain that he's died and it's just a matter of time until someone notices.

When no one does, Liam holds on to the sink to stand up on trembling legs, and limps into his clothes. Something inside of him burns as he walks out the door, finding nothing but an empty hallway. 

Blood boils in his veins, thinking of wrecking the gaff apart until the coppers come to take him away. But that would do nowt, wouldn't make the bastard look at him. Wouldn't bring the band back. He can't bring anything back. Dragging a hand through his hair, he feels his scalp tender where Noel had pulled at his hair. 

Liam spots a cigarette next right next to a bin, and he picks it up to see it better. It's fresh, still intact. Must be his lucky day. Snorting, he pulls out a lighter as he walks down the hall, feeling the smoke fill his lungs. And thinks that his brother must've watched him on the telly, talking about making music, writing tunes by himself. Liam pictures him then, Noel seething in his soda as he imagined his little brother not needing him, singing other blokes' songs; and needing to rush all the way here, possessed by his fury. 

He releases the smoke with a small smile, relishing the burn in his throat and below his stomach. As Liam marches towards the exit, he whistles that tune he'll record when he gets back, and knows his brother won't be happy to hear it.